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“Even if this monster is real,” Za’tan snaps, “why would your peoplewakeit? Your own legends say it’s the end of the world. Why would they want that?”

“Because we’ve lost,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

The weight of the admission hurts, but this is not the time to hold anything back. This is the moment everything has been building to. I will either leave this chamber with an alliance or I’ll leave it a failure. I can’t meet their eyes so I stare at the edge of the table. Studying the small marks from the chisel that formed it. The wear lines. Dozens maybe hundreds of hands have worn the stone smooth.

“If we’ve won then why?—”

“Enough,” the Al’fa cuts Za’tan off. “Leave it be.”

I look up sharply, surprised by his intervention. His eyes are boring into me, burning with something that I can’t read. No, I can read it, I don’t want to. I’m scared to. Because it can’t be.

Rosalind leans forward, sharp eyes glittering.

“So what are you proposing?” she asks.

I draw a line between the Zmaj stronghold and the outer rim of the city where I know the Resistance will be hiding.

“A joint force. My loyalists will rise. They’ll fight the Shaman and his Maulavi, but they won’t survive alone. Not in time. If we strike together, we can crush him and evacuate both of our cities before the fire comes.”

“And then what?” Za’tan growls. “You return to your throne and we trust you not to rebuild your army?”

“If I wanted to continue this war with your kind,” I say coldly, “you’d already be fighting one.”

Silence. It stretches for long heartbeats.

Then the Al’fa moves. Slowly, deliberately, he places both hands on the table and leans forward, the light catching on his scarred cheek.

“You ask Zmaj warriors to die alongside the same creatures who have killed us for generations.”

“I ask you to help us stop something worse than any of us have ever seen.”

He doesn’t blink.

“And what makes you think I won’t turn this alliance into a slaughter the moment your enemies fall?”

“I don’t,” I say. He straightens. “But I believe you won’t,” I continue. “Because if you wanted that, you’d have already used me as bait. Instead, you have waited and you have listened.”

That earns me a long, searching look. The others fade into the periphery. Drogor watching with his quiet, simple determination. Rosalind, quiet as the still waters of a deep cavern pool. Za’tan, watchful and wary, ever the blade behind the throne. But it’s the Al’fa who matters.

“You think we can convince them?” he asks finally. “The others? To fight beside the Urr’ki?”

I hesitate. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because the truth is brutal.

“No,” I say. “But we have to try.”

Za’tan’s jaw tics. “You’ll tear the compound apart.”

“Better now,” Rosalind murmurs, “than when the ground opens and this monstrosity rises.”

The Al’fa looks at each of us in turn. Rosalind. Drogor. Za’tan. Me. His shoulders rise, then fall. And he nods. Once.

The meeting ends in silence, no signatures, no blood oath. Just the weight of what we’ve agreed to—an alliance that defies everything that generations of hate and war have taught us.

But it’s after the others leave that the real moment comes. He waits behind, lingering by the map I drew. I stay, unsure why I haven’t walked away.

“You were impressive,” he says at last, his voice low and rough, without looking up.

“You sound surprised.”